Category Archives: politics

There has been a bit of a brouhaha in Conservative Movement circles about the United Synagogue’s decision to allow their teens, in the context of a United Synagogue Youth program, to ride public transportation on Shabbat in order to participate in the march for sensible gun control on March 24th, in Washington DC. This is a departure for USY, an organization that has done wonderful work with young people in the Movement, but has been for the most part rigidly and strictly devoted to a narrow interpretation of how Shabbat should be observed.

A couple of thoughts –

First, (and maybe foremost) doesn’t a loosening of Shabbat restrictions make sense given the observance level of the vast majority of people affiliated with the Conservative Movement? Do we imagine that most of the young people who participate in our USY programs are Shabbat observant? Do we think they don’t drive on Shabbat, use their computers and mobile phones, even go to the mall for that matter? This is not to say we should throw the baby out with the bath water, but rather to suggest that we realistically look at who our teens are, and for that matter, who our adult congregants are as well. It may be time to acknowledge that a narrow and strict definition of and adherence to Shabbat observance has become a thing of the past for the vast majority of Conservative Jews.

And secondly, if we want to stay in the realm of halacha (Jewish law) for a moment, lets think about the question of when it is appropriate, and even required, to set aside Shabbat observance for some other value. In ancient times this was done so that on the Sabbath day the Temple’s sacrifices could still be offered. In modern times this idea exists in a number of different areas, most prominently vis a vis the principle of preserving life, where virtually all halachic authorities agree that a physician may set aside Shabbat observance in order to attend to patients. Brit milah (ritual circumcision) is another example. If the 8th day fall on Shabbat, the bris is supposed to take place regardless.

Along these lines, doesn’t it then make sense to teach our teenagers a lesson. Shabbat is important, one of the defining institutions of Judaism. But there are times when other ideals, other values, other commitments, should take precedence. Our teens this weekend will experience a meaningful sense of Shabbat, with Friday night dinners and services, Saturday morning study sessions, and sleeping in local synagogues. But then on Saturday they’ll take their prepaid Metro cards, climb onto the DC subway, and join thousands of other teens in an effort to make a better, safer, holier world.

Some might in fact argue that there is no better way to spend our most sacred day.

You may know that Rabbi Saroken and I spent a good part of the week at the Pearlstone Center in Westminster at the annual Rabbinic Training Institute. Every January some 70 Conservative rabbis from around the country gather to study, talk, pray, eat, even drink a little bit – and of course sing karaoke. I will simply say after the Wednesday night session, if you haven’t seen a bunch of rabbis singing karaoke than you haven’t really lived!

One of the morning text classes I took was a Bible class that focused on characters in the text who struggle with disabilities. The idea behind the course was that if we can see disabilities in some of our biblical heroes than our communities and synagogues will be more open and welcoming to people in the disabled community. With close textual reading our teacher, Dr. Ora Prouser, showed us how Esau could be seen as a person struggling with ADHD. Jacob, Esau’s brother, lives most of his life with a significant limp. And perhaps most famously of all, we poured through texts describing Moses, thinking about the disability that he struggled with throughout his life, which is? Yes, his speech. Although the text is unclear as to what exactly Moses’ problem is – it has been suggested that perhaps he stuttered, or had a severe speech impediment – it is absolutely clear that Moses had trouble talking.

There are multiple occasions where Moses reminds God of his difficulty with speaking, one of them in this morning’s Torah portion. When God tells Moses to bring a message to Pharaoh, Moses responds by saying “אני ערל שפתים ואיך ישמע אלי פרעה – I am of impeded speech, how will Pharaoh hear me?!” Almost implying that his speech is unintelligible. God at first seems to pay no heed, but the truth is if you look a bit closer God seems to agree – how do we know this? God says to Moses “OK, I’ll speak to you, you speak to Aaron, your brother, and then Aaron will be the one to speak to Pharaoh and the people.” We can presume that Aaron, being Moses’ brother, can understand him, just as a parent of a child learning to speak can understand what the child is saying even thought to everyone else it sounds like gibberish.

I always knew about these passages, and the truth is most people, if you ask them, will be familiar with the idea that Moses has trouble speaking. But what I had never really thought about before was that Moses carried this struggle throughout his life. If you take out conversations that Moses has with God, which are already something different, and if you take out the book of Deuteronomy, which is also a book that is distinct in the Torah, and if you just look at the Moses in Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers, you’ll find a Moses who struggles to speak. There are a few short speeches here and there, but for the most part Moses speaks in short spurts, a few words at a time, and by and large seems to speak as little as possible.

You may be thinking of the movie The King’s Speech, which tells the story of King George VI. I don’t want to get into all of the palace intrigue, and the abdication of the throne by the older brother, but if you know the story you know that when King George came to the throne he had a terrible stuttering problem. The movie follows his efforts to defeat that difficulty, and with the help of a speech therapist he is ultimately able to address his people, both on the radio and in person, with moving words during some of Britain’s darkest days, helping them maintain faith and hope for a better future.

The parallels between our Torah narrative and Moses, and the story about the King are clear. Both are the leaders of their people, both have deep misgivings about whether they are suited to the roles they have been called to, and of course, both struggle with their ability to speak. But there is one distinct difference. The King overcomes his speech difficulties, but Moses never does. Imagine the pressure he felt walking in to Pharaoh’s throne room knowing how hard it would be to get his words out properly. Or the humiliation he might have felt having to whisper God’s laws into Aaron’s ear, who would then proclaim them to the people. But despite this challenge, Moses persists and, if you’ll excuse the expression, carries on. He never again brings up the fact that it is hard for him to properly speak. He goes about his business, using Aaron when he needs to, sometimes speaking for himself when there is no other recourse. Despite his difficulty with speech, he is able to lead his people to freedom.

Now I have a sense – mostly from my own work – of how difficult it can be to speak properly, even when you DON’T have a speech impediment. As a leader, your words carry real weight, and what you say makes a difference. People want to hear from you, they want to know what is on your mind, what you think about issue x,y, or z. The right words, carefully chosen and properly spoken, can inspire, soothe, heal, mend fences, and bring hope. The wrong words can have the opposite effect – they can break relationships, create mistrust, hurt people, and bring anger and divisiveness into a family, or large scale, into a country.

Judaism was always sensitive to the power of words. It is no accident that God creates the universe at the beginning of the Torah by using words. That is an illustration of the power of words to create and bring goodness into the world. But our tradition was well aware that the opposite side of the coin is also true, and that words can destroy, damage and hurt. I imagine most of us are familiar with the concept of לשון הרע, commonly translated as gossip, but literally meaning ‘evil speech.’ This concept is considered so important in Jewish thought that the Chafetz Hayim, one of the great rabbis of the 19th century, wrote an entire book about the subject that he called שמירת הלשון, the Guarding of Language.

But this morning I would like to bring to your attention another Jewish concept about proper speech, less well known than לשון הרע , a concept called לשון נקי, which literally translated would mean ‘clean language.’ It is a simple and straight forward idea – when we speak, we should strive to elevate our language, to speak to our fellow human beings – or to speak about them – in the same way we might try to speak to or about God. And that when we coarsen or cheapen our language, when we curse, or yell, when we rant and rave, we diminish others, but even more so we diminish ourselves.

That is a lesson we should all remember, in every interaction we have, whether with friends or family, whether at work or standing in line at the food store, whether we are a rabbi, an accountant, a teacher, whether Moses or the King of England, or even the President of the United States. Hateful words, especially from leaders, will build a hateful world. But clean language – לשון נקי – elevated language – will help us all to rise. God willing in the months ahead we will figure out a way to leave the hate behind, and to rise together to build a more hopeful, peaceful, tolerant world for all.

Three months from now, on Saturday February 3rd, I hope you’ll all be back for services. That morning we’ll read from the Torah Parshat Yitro, which contains probably the best known text in the entire Bible, the Ten Commandments. You may know that the 10 commandments are symbolically represented here in the Berman Rubin Sanctuary – where? Right! On top of the ark just behind me, with the carving of the two tablets, and you’ll notice, even if you can’t read Hebrew, that there are 5 lines on each tablet, and each line has two words – those are the first two words of each of the 10 commandments. Lets go through them quickly – they are –

There is a wonderful George Carlin bit about the 10 commandments, one of my favorite comedy bits, and in 3 or 4 minutes he deconstructs the 10 commandments to show that at the end of the day they are really only one commandment, or maybe one and a half at best. I would like to play that game just a bit this morning, and to argue that of the 10, the two most important are the first two commandments. Number one, which is understood as ‘believe in God!’ And the second – which is understood fundamentally as ‘don’t worship idols.’ Those two commandments are at the core of Jewish life, they are overarching principles, while the rest of the 10 attend to details. And I would also argue that the first two commandments – believing in God and not worshipping idols – define Abraham’s life as the first Jew.

The believing in God part is easy to see, both in last week’s Torah portion and this week’s. When God suddenly appears to Abraham last week, asking him to leave his native land, to give up everything that is familiar to him, Abraham does not say a single word. Instead, with a straight forward sense of faith, with an iron cast belief that the God speaking to him is authentic, he simply packs his bags and he leaves. And in the portion we read this morning Abraham shows a similar strength of faith and belief when God comes to him and tells him to sacrifice his son Isaac. Again, Abraham says not a single word. God’s message comes to Abraham, and the text simply says וישכם אברהם בבוקר – Abraham rose up early in the morning and went about the business of fulfilling God’s command. Now I don’t know about you, but my faith is not strong enough to listen to a command like that, even if it did come from God. But Abraham’s faith is so strong that he never for a moment doubts that God will do what is right in the end.

But if Abraham’s belief in God is one of the defining qualities of his life, his rejection of idols seems to be almost, if not as, important. Perhaps the most famous midrashic text of all time is about Abraham and the rejection of idols. It is so well known many people believe it to be in the Torah itself. It tells the story of a young Abraham, working in his father’s idol shop back in Ur. And one day while his father is away, Abraham smashes all the idols with a hammer. When his father returns, he yells at his son – what did you do? Abraham’s answer to his father is tongue in cheek – “I didn’t do anything, the idols were fighting and they smashed each other!” “That is not possible,” his father replied, “they are made of clay, they can’t move, they don’t think!” And Abraham had his opening – “Well then, father,” he said, “why do you worship them?”

And that rejection of idols, that rejection of anything or any culture that is not monotheistic, becomes a second defining quality of Abraham’s life. Abraham is called in the Torah העברי, which we commonly translate as ‘the Hebrew.’ But the root means ‘over there,’ or ‘the other side,’ so Abraham is the one who stands apart. That is one of the ways I read the Binding of Isaac story. When everyone else was sacrificing their children to their gods, Abraham stood apart, ultimately refusing to sacrifice his son to God. When everyone else buried their family members in a common burial area, Abraham stood apart, purchasing a distinct plot of land for his family. And as a boy, when he was growing up in a culture where everyone else worshiped idols, he stood apart, rejecting the idea of idol worship, and embracing the idea of a universal creator of all.

Over time the prohibition of idol worship became one of Judaism’s most important commandments and values. There is an entire Talmudic tractate, Avodah Zarah, devoted to the dangers of idol worship. Over and over again the great biblical prophets of our tradition warn against the worship of idols. And of the 613 commandments, there are only three that a Jew must never violate, even to pain of death – and idol worship is one of them. That intense, almost visceral, rejection of idolatry all began with Abraham, and it has continued to this very day in the lives of individual Jews and in Jewish communities through the ages.

Of course many things can be idols. I would guess just about everyone in this room knows that Apple released a new state of the art iPhone yesterday. And isn’t there something just a little bit idol worshippy about how people line up from 6 in the morning to get their hands on that object, about how they walk out of the stores with reverent expressions on their faces? Here is David Brooks writing about modern idols in a column that appeared in this week’s NY Times: “idolatry is seductive because in the first phase it seems to work. The first sip of that martini tastes great. At first a new smartphone seems to give you power and control. The status you get from a new burst of success seems really sensational. But then idols fail. What seemed to offer you more control begins to control you.”

Being honest, we all probably have our personal idols, objects or ideas that we worship to one degree or another in unhealthy ways. It could be almost anything. Food or alcohol or drugs. Wealth and status and money. Dare I suggest, the Ravens? But there are times when communities also begin to worship idols. In the Jewish tradition we have our very own example of that, in Exodus 32 and the story of the Golden Calf.

What are today’s communal idols? One would be a culture that tells us success is defined by material possessions. Another today would be political orthodoxy – worshipping at the feet of the political ideology of your chosen party, whether the right or the left. Self interest might be a third – the growing trend to prioritize the needs of the individual over the needs of the community. All of these things on the surface seem to offer you more control, but in the end, as Brooks pointed out, they end up controlling you.

So you see Abraham was a hero not only for his own time, he also is a hero for our time. As we read about him in the Torah we are reminded of how important it is to identify the idols in our lives, whether communal or individual. But we are also reminded that identifying these idols is not sufficient – they must also be confronted, and eventually destroyed. It is when Abraham destroys the idols that surrounded him that he is finally free to begin his journey and live the rest of his life. So it is for all of us as well – may we do that work in community, fellowship, and faith, with God’s help –

One hundred and thirty one years ago next month the Statue of Liberty was dedicated on a day of great ceremony and celebration. There was a parade through Manhattan that hundreds of thousands of people attended, followed by a nautical parade of dignitaries. The ceremony itself, taking place at the foot of the great statue, was presided over by none other than President Grover Cleveland. In his remarks that day he explained Lady Liberty’s symbolism in the following way: “her stream of light shall pierce the darkness of ignorance and man’s oppression until Liberty enlightens the world.”

It wasn’t until 17 years later that the poem ‘the New Colossus’ was installed at the base of what had become by that time America’s most famous and symbolic statue. Written in sonnet form, the 14 lines of the poem captured Lady Liberty’s symbolism, and also perfectly described the sense of America as a place of refuge, safety, and freedom. I expect some of you probably memorized these lines at some point in school, but it is worth repeating them this morning:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

The sea washed sunset gates of the poem are the Hudson and East Rivers, framing Manhattan on her east and west sides. The imprisoned lightning? The torch in Lady Liberty’s raised right hand, lit by electric light. The twin cities? New York is obviously one – what about the other? Brooklyn, the true center of the world! And the huddled masses are of course the thousands upon thousands of immigrants who came to these shores through the gates of Ellis Island. A nearly perfect description in words of what the statue had come to mean to our country, and to the world. America, a land of freedom, opportunity, and welcome to all.

The New Colossus was written by a Sephardic Jew named Emma Lazarus. Lazarus lived a largely secular life until she was in her early 30s when she read the great George Eliot novel Daniel Deronda, about a young Jew who suddenly discovers his Jewish identity and decides to devote himself to the Jewish people. She saw in that narrative a reflection of her own life, and from that point forward Emma Lazarus began to devote herself to Jewish causes. She was particularly interested in the eastern European Jews who came to this country in the 1880s and 90s. She was moved by their stories of hardship and suffering, combined with their deep faith and the sense of hope they maintained that they could build a better life here in America. Lazarus saw her poem as an expression of gratitude for the past, for her own ancestors who had made their way to this country and the goodness that they found here, and she also saw it as expression of hope, that future generations of immigrants would be welcomed to these shores, where they could one day build lives of dignity and opportunity.

I’ve often wondered during the last week what Emma Lazarus would have thought about our current debate over the DACA law (deferred action for childhood arrivals) and the so called ‘Dreamers.’ I imagine you have followed the news. DACA was put into place 5 years ago by then President Obama, and its intention was to enable children whose parents who had come to this country illegally to become legitimate citizens. This week it was announced that the DACA protections would expire in 6 months, and if congress does not act (which it seems virtually incapable of) it is possible that as many as 800,000 young adults, who have grown up in this country, many of whom have jobs, or are in school full time, would be deported.

Of course like with everything these days the debate has become intensely politically charged, and there are also legal arguments being made on both sides. But I wonder what Emma Lazarus would have thought in terms of the values that are being expressed in this national conversation. Because at the end of the day this debate really is about values. What do we want this country to symbolize, to stand for? What ideals do we hope the citizens of this country believe in? At the heart of this conversation is a question of whether we still subscribe to the ideals and values that are so elegantly and beautifully laid out in the 14 lines of that sonnet that Emma Lazarus composed 134 years ago.

There can be no question that caring for the stranger is a primary value of the Torah’s. There are no fewer than 46 references to the stranger in the Torah, each of them a reminder of the responsibility the community has to care for those who find themselves on the margins of society. And there are two reasons why the tradition is so concerned with this ideal. The first is it understands the Jewish experience to be that of the stranger. Jews know what it feels like to be ostracized, Jews know what it feels like to be marginalized, Jews know what it feels like to be expelled from a country. And so if any people should have an extra sensitivity to the stranger, it should be the Jewish people.

But the other reason is that Judaism understands that the way a society treats its strangers is a measure of that culture’s quality. There is an odd verse in this morning’s Torah portion. In a series of curses, of bad things that will happen to the Israelites if they don’t obey God, you find the following: והיית ממשש בצהרים כאשר ימשש העור באפלה – you will grope about in the daylight in the same way a blind man gropes about in the darkness. And the commentators are puzzled. Because what difference does it make to a blind man whether it is night or day, dark or light?

The Talmud provides a wonderful answer. If a blind man is groping about in the darkness, no one else can see that man to help him. But in daylight others will see him struggling, and they will come to him to help him find his way.

And that is where we are. We are at a crossroads, not just with DACA, but in so many other ways, of deciding what kind of nation we want to be, what kind of values we want to embrace. Do we want to be the kind of country where we grope about in the dark, each person trying to fend for him or herself, unable or unwilling to help one another? Not able to truly see the other? Or do we want to be the kind of nation that seeks the light, a light that is symbolized by the torch held up in the hand of Lady Liberty, so that when one of us stumbles, when when of us needs help, when one of us can’t see a way forward, he or she is embraced by others, and welcomed home?

What do we sing in the Sim shalom paragraph of the amidah? כי באור פניך נתת לנו ה אלוקינו תורת חיים ואהבת חסד – in the Light of Your countenance, You gave us God a Torah of life, and a love of kindness, righteousness, blessing, compassion, life, and peace.

May that light and those values guide us and our nation in the months and years ahead –

A wonderful turn of phrase I discovered in this morning’s NY Times. It appeared in James Poniewozik’s review of the new Hulu series adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Reviews of the series have been exceptional across the board, citing the quality of the acting, production, directing, etc, etc – evidently, it is top notch all the way through. But what all the reviews make special note of is how ‘chillingly’ relevant the story line is to today’s world. In Atwood’s dystopian near future women are treated like objects, fundamentalist religion reigns supreme, and the government has been overrun in a military coup. It all reads (or views) a little too close for comfort.

Which is precisely what Poniewozik’s phrase so perfectly captures. Gilead is the name of Atwood’s twisted future ‘republic.’ And as I suspect you remember, ‘make America great again’ was the current president’s campaign slogan. How ironic that the end of Trump’s first 100 days comes in the very same week when The Handmaid’s Tale adaptation airs its initial episodes. As ever, great art enables us to raise a mirror to our current reality, a mirror in which we see things as they are, but with a deeper sense of meaning, understanding, and context. As the old saying goes, when you read the newspaper you find out what happened yesterday. When you read great literature you find out what always happens.

Atwood begins her novel with a quote from Genesis 30, describing Rachel’s infertility and her decision to use Bilhah, a ‘handmaid,’ to conceive in her stead. The reference fits with the narrative’s understanding of religion as a dangerous and destructive force, one that by nature subjugates women. And it is true, if you pick and choose the right verses you can read the Bible that way. And perhaps that is the way some fundamentalists would read the text, and certain politicians as well.

But the Bible is a long book, and there are many ways to read it, and many ideals and values expressed in it. Some of them are radically progressive, even for our day and age. The great Hebrew prophets of old, Isaiah the greatest of them all, stood on the streets of Jerusalem and proclaimed the word of God. Their message was one of tolerance and dignity, of hope and faith, of God’s ultimate goodness and the responsibility of the people to create a just society. They cried out at injustice directed against the poor and the marginalized. They spoke in God’s voice for those who had no voice of their own.

Word on the street is that the new Handmaid’s Tale TV series will take the story beyond the end of Atwood’s novel. Perhaps in a future episode there will be an Isaiah like character, dressed in robes, eyes flashing, speaking with unmatched eloquence about a world gone wrong. No question the Republic of Gilead needs that prophetic message. What we are coming to understand is that we need it too, in our world, in our republic, in our own time.

“No, this is the fast I desire: to unlock the fetters of wickedness, and untie the core of the yoke; to let the oppressed go free, to break off every yoke. It is to share your bread with the hungry, and to take the wretched poor into your home; when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to ignore your own kin.” (Isaiah 58: 6-7)

You will remember the famous line from the Wizard of Oz, spoken by Dorothy to her dog Toto just after they arrive in a strange and magical land: ‘We’re not in Kansas anymore.’ Over the years that phrase has entered the vernacular, generally used to indicate the moment when you realize you’ve entered unknown territory, that you’ve come to a place, whether physical or metaphysical, where you’ve never before been.

So where are we today? With constant protests and regular ‘executive orders.’ With immigration bans and simmering anger. With simple and straight forward facts being doubted and questioned and sometimes blatantly denied. I actually had to step between two men in their 80s at our kiddish after services this past Shabbat. I was afraid they were going to come to blows, one speaking out in support of the administration, one against. Both of them, by the way, are immigrants.

Wherever we are, we are not in Kansas. Of that I am sure. I guess the question might be how do we get back?

Being honest, at this point I don’t know. Perhaps the Wizard of Oz is instructive. Dorothy had a long way to go before she found her way back home. Challenges and even some dangers to overcome. The Yellow Brick Road. The Lion and Scarecrow and Tin Man. Those weird looking flying monkey things. The Emerald City, even the Wizard of Oz himself. And of course the Wicked Witch! Along the way she had moments of heartbreak, despair, and doubt. And even at the end of that long road it was touch and go. But she made it. And when she arrived, boy did Kansas look good.

And all the way through she maintained the courage of her convictions. Not that she didn’t learn along the way, and change and grow. She did! But her innate sense of decency and fairness and the kindly inclination of her heart remained steady.

Maybe that is what is happening in America today. People are realizing what really matters to them, and the country itself is rediscovering fundamental values like tolerance and kindness, caring for the marginalized, and welcoming the stranger, fairness and human dignity. Sounds a lot like Kansas. And people have been pulling their ruby red slippers out of their closets all over this land.

In his column in this morning’s NY Times David Brooks seems to suggest that we should evaluate the Trump presidency by dividing the president elect into two. On the one hand, we’ll have the Trump who will send out late night tweets, ranting and raving against those whom he sees as enemies, making strange policy pronouncements, commenting on product lines or movie stars (Trump #1). On the other, we’ll have the Trump who sits in the Oval Office and works with his staff, crafting the nation’s agenda and working to implement economic, domestic, and foreign policy (Trump #2). Brooks argues that we shouldn’t evaluate Trump #2 by what Trump #1 might say or tweet. Almost as if they are two different people, unconnected in all but appearance.

Certainly there is precedent for this idea. We have long understood that the private behavior of the president does not necessarily reflect on his ability to do the job, to lead the nation, to be the voice for all Americans. Bill Clinton’s indiscretions come to mind. So do JFK’s, the famous Camelot of early 60s Washington now tarnished by the probing scope of history. But there does seem to be a limit. Nixon’s image was irreparably damaged by Watergate, crossing the line from indiscretion to illegality the way he did. Nevertheless, at the end of the day evidence indicates that we want someone in the office who can do the job, whether or not they are a paradigm of moral rectitude and probity. Whether or not they are a person of integrity.

Of course integrity has another meaning, commonly the second definition you’ll find when you look it up in the dictionary. From its verb form, ‘to integrate,’ the word also means the state of being whole and undivided. That is to say that the outside of a person matches the inside, the public persona and private persona are one and the same. This is a challenge for members of the clergy. Publicly we espouse certain values, we sermonize about faith and our fellow man, we challenge our congregants to become better people (and for rabbis better Jews!). But privately we may struggle with our own faith. We may all too often give in to our baser instincts, over time souring and sinking in a sea of cynicism. We may begin to look at others and wonder what they want from us, instead of what we can give to them. This may be all too human, but it is not holy.

There is an old midrashic comment about the ark that contained the tablets that Moses brought down from Sinai. According to Torah text that ark was gilded with gold, both on the outside, and the inside. Of course the outside makes sense – that is what is visible to the world, so when the people looked at the ark they saw the beautiful gold gleaming in the sun. But why bother with gold on the inside, a part of the ark that no one saw? The answer, of course, is that the inside is just as important as the outside. At the end of the day the people we are most impressed with are those whose inner qualities shine through, creating a brighter light than any polished gold ever could.